


Lifetime Supply

by FriendlyCybird



Series: Important Talks [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, If you know how I should tag this fic please tell me, Post-Canon, Stan gets a little upset but I don't think I should tag as angst..., What's this? The Stan's actually communicating?, i have a weakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:59:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Stan doesn't like Ford's nutritional tablets. So the fact that he's running out should be good news, right? Ford seems to think so, for reasons Stan doesn't totally understand.





	Lifetime Supply

**Author's Note:**

> I had just enough time in the Gravity Falls fandom to come up with dozens of fun food-related headcanons for our favorite grunkles when someone informed me that Alex had dropped this little fact about Ford's dietary habits on us a long time ago. This fic is largely how I handled my disappointment.

Even when Ford didn’t eat, which was most of the time, he’d sit with Stan for meals. Stan appreciated the thought, he just wished Ford wouldn’t eat his damn nutrition pills at the table. That wasn’t fair though, they were his meals. Nevermind they were pills, they had “All the vitamins, minerals, and even calories I need to survive, Stanley”, every time Stan had to watch him pull the stupid little bottle from his jacket, pop a pill and wash it down with a little swig of water or even occasionally alcohol, it raised his hackles. 

Tonight though, at the conclusion of his little twenty-second ritual, Stanford stared at the bottle for a long moment. He uncapped it a second time that meal and looked inside. “Something wrong?” Stan asked. 

“This bottle has appeared full since the day I acquired it well over twenty years ago.” Ford explained. “Its interior dimensions are significantly larger than its external ones, creating that illusion, despite many years of constant depletion.” he paused and then, with something like joy in his voice “I must actually be running out!” 

If Ford didn’t mind that, Stan wasn’t going to argue. “Good.” he said, digging his fork into the mass of brown meat on his plate. “Maybe you’ll actually start eating food now.” 

Ford’s face fell. “Oh.” he said. “Yes, I suppose I’ll have no choice soon.” 

Stan smirked. “Yep.” Ford sipped at his water, and in the face of his sudden melancholy, Stan sighed. “Look, I’m not that bad of a cook…” Ford looked at him skeptically and Stan forced a grin. “Keep myself fed alright, don’t I?” he asked rhetorically, patting his gut to make the point. 

Ford cracked a smile. “That’s part of the concern, Stanley.” he teased. 

Stan just laughed. “You could use to put on a few, Sixer. You’re making me look bad.” 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Not that you need my help with that.” 

“Hey!” Stan protested, and they both laughed. Settled to resume eating, and took one bite before realizing. “So, if you’re not looking forward to sea rations a la Stanley, what’d you look so happy about?” 

Ford’s smile returned, contagiously, and Stan found himself grinning back through his next bite. “It was calculated to be a lifetime supply.” Ford said cheerfully. 

Stans smile wavered. “Huh?” that didn’t sound like good news. “What, so you think you can...contact the company or something? Get more?” 

Ford shook his head. “No, Stanley. I don’t intend to seek out interdimensional customer service. No, I mean there was an evaluation. Blood tests, assessments of my health habits and other risk factors, and a calculation was made of how many pills I’d need for the rest of my life.” 

That really didn’t sound like good news, and Stan frowned. “Get to the point, Poindexter.” he grumbled. 

Ford briefly seemed confused, searching Stans face for some sort of explanation. He was probably wondering why Stan was poking around at why he’d been happy so hard. Hell, Stan was wondering that himself. Why couldn’t he just take it for what it was? Ford seemed to figure it out, but when whatever realization that played across his face led him to say “Stanley…” in a voice that damn compassionate, Stan bristled. 

“I just don’t see why you sounded so happy some dumb alien test told you you’re gonna die soon!” Stan snapped. Great. Now he was turning it into an argument. Why was he like this? 

“That I should have been about to die soon.” Ford corrected. 

Stan glared at him. That was why. Ford was a pedantic asshole. “I’m not hearing much difference there, Sixer.” he growled, pushing his plate away. 

Ford sighed. “Stanley, I’m not going to die.” 

Oh, so that explained the voice. “I know that!” and why was his own voice still raised? “You can’t just...measure how long somebody’s got left with science. I just didn’t think you’d be so glad to get that proved.” 

“I don’t think the test is incorrect, Stanley.” 

Ford sounded calm, leading, like the rare actually patient teacher. It was a little condescending. Which really just helped Stan justify why he was freaking out at him. “Ya can’t have it both ways, Sixer. Either the test is wrong, or you’re gonna die.” and those words, falling out so easy, tried to pull his throat closed behind them. Stan got to his feet to storm off, and Ford followed, catching him by the arm. The asshole was still smiling. 

“Stanley, we’ve discussed this.” Ford said, far too patiently. At Stan’s incredulous look, the jerk finally explained. “I’m happy because you saved me.” 

Stan stopped. “Oh.” he said simply.

Ford nodded. “Thanks to you, my circumstances changed.” He still sounded patient, but it was less grating now. There was something soft to it, warm. “Honestly, with the path I was on, the nearly thirty years they gave me was rather generous.” Stan tensed again and Ford squeezed his arm. “But now? Bill’s gone, I’ve achieved a childhood dream, I never want for adventure or companionship…” he trailed off, and turned Stan slightly, all but forcing eye contact. “And I defied the very course of my life. Thanks to you.” 

The impulse to hug him was very nearly overwhelming. Very nearly. Stan ducked his head and cleared his throat, pulling away gently to beat it. “Oh.” he said again. 

Ford must have read the impulse, or else he just had it too. He tugged Stan close and threw an arm around him. “Now.” he said, tugging Stan back towards the table. “I’d advise you sit back down and finish your meal. I’m going to check the forecast again, we may be in for some difficult weather.” 

Stan pulled Ford just the slightest bit closer, for just a brief moment, then pulled away and did exactly that. Ford turned to walk away, but Stan called after him “So when’re you gonna start getting into the habit of actually eating?” 

Ford groaned and paused in the doorway. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “We should make a stop in the near future to resupply. Maybe if I have more of a hand in the grocery shopping…” Stan was about to reply, start up some sort of banter, but Ford wasn’t kidding about heading out to check the forecast. He was gone in a moment, and Stan shrugged. Then he returned to his food.


End file.
